Liaison
by nadagio
Summary: Hermione has a new job and runs into some difficulty. Some information from Snape changes everything and nothing.


**Liaison**

* * *

A middle-aged man sits on a worn sofa, watching TV. A child of about seven sits beside him, engrossed in the portable gaming system he holds.

"Someone needs to set the table!" A woman calls from another room. The man and child look at each other with consideration, the man arches an eyebrow, and the child sighs.

"Whatever," the boy grumbles, and drops his game on the cushion as he stands. The man laughs and ruffles the boy's hair as he walks past.

The doorbell rings.

"Would someone get that, please?"

The boy looks to the man from his place by the table and sticks out his tongue, "Your turn!" he says as he lays down a fork.

With a sigh, the man stands and approaches the front door. On the other side he finds a young woman in a pant suit, her curly brown hair pulled back tightly, likely in an attempt to look older.

He dislikes her immediately.

"Mr. Jeff Colburn?" she asks with a smile. Terribly contrived, that smile, the man thinks.

"Yes, that's me," Mr. Colburn says brusquely.

"Wonderful, and your son is Jacob Colburn?"

"One of them, yes. Is he in some sort of trouble?"

"Oh no! Not at all. I'd actually like to speak to you about an educational opportunity for Jacob."

Sounds like a scam.

"I'm afraid my family is about to have dinner. If you could come another day..." he says leadingly. The woman winces apologetically.

"Yes, I'm sorry for the inconvenience, I wanted to be sure you were home. It won't take but a few minutes and I think you'll agree-"

"Jeff? Who is it?" Jeff's wife, Dianne, comes from the kitchen and stands to look over his shoulder curiously. The man shrugs.

"Oh! I'm Hermione Granger, ma'am," the young woman says from outside and extends a hand. Mrs. Colburn takes it reluctantly. "I'm here on behalf of a very prestigious school in Scotland that's interested in teaching your son, Jacob"

They eye her skeptically.

"May I come in?" she asks.

"Of-of course." Mrs. Colburn says politely.

They all enter the living room and take a seat.

"Ian, go get your brother," Mr. Colburn says to the boy watching them from the kitchen. She turns of the television.

"Jacob!" Ian screams as he runs up the stairs, "Jaaaaaaaacoooooob!"

The constant hum from upstairs that is the bass line of some popular music cuts off abruptly, and a preteen boy stomps down to the living room where the adults sit in an awkward silence. Jacob joins his parents on the sofa, glaring at nothing in particular.

"So, yes. I'm here to talk to you about Hogwarts, a prestigious boarding school," Ms. Granger begins with a bright smile. "We would have simply sent you a letter, but Hogwarts is very specialized and has strict requirements that are best explained in person."

Mrs. Colburn looks anxiously to the dinner getting cold on the table.

"You see, Hogwarts is a academy for people with special talents, such as your son, Jacob. May I ask if you've ever noticed anything... peculiar happen around him occasionally?"

Mr. and Mrs. Colburn regard Ms. Granger as if she'd spoken in Greek, Jacob watches her cautiously, and Ian giggles from the staircase. Her smile falters.

"Ah, well, maybe not. I know this will be difficult to believe, but your son is magical. A wizard. There is an entire community of magical beings that is hidden from those without magic, and I'm from the Ministry of Magic here in Britain to ask your son to attend Hogwarts so he might learn how to use his abilities."

There is silence. Jacob's face lights up with a cautious, hopeful grin.

"Pardon?" Mrs. Colburn asks faintly.

"Yes... I'm sure this is a shock. And I wouldn't blame you for thinking this a joke or hoax, but if I might demonstrate-"

Ms. Granger produces a long, polished stick of wood from her sleeve and gives it a wave. A small hummingbird materializes from nothing and buzzes about the room. Another wave and it vanishes. A flick and the sofa on which the Colburns sit begins to float several inches from the floor.

Jacob laughs with delight. His parents begin to shake. Another flick of Ms. Granger's stick and the sofa lowers gently to the floor.

"As you can see, magic is quite real, and your son-"

"Get out." Mr. Colburn interrupts. He and his wife sit completely rigid, their clenched fists white, eyes darting around in fear and confusion. Looking panicked as trapped prey.

Ms. Granger's eyes widen in alarm.

"Mr. Colburn, I understand this is difficult, but-"

"Please leave," Mrs. Colburn whines fearfully above her older son's sullen protestations.

"But it's really important that you understand-"

"Leave, she said! Get out! OUT!" Mr. Colburn stands in a rage and gestures to the front door, grabbing his wife and sons and shepherding them into the kitchen.

Ms. Granger finds herself alone in their living room, at a loss.

Seeing no reasonable alternative, she sets Jacob Colburn's Hogwarts acceptance letter on the coffee table and lets herself out.

She walks rigidly to the street, looks both ways, and Apparates.

* * *

Hermione manages to get to her broom-closet of an office on Level Three in the Ministry and cast a Silencing Charm before she explodes.

"Damn it. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it! DAMN IT!"

She kicks the side of her desk in frustration, then hops around in pain.

"Gaaugh!"

This was the _fifth_ family she'd visited. The _fifth_ time she's been faced with hysterical Muggles upon learning of magic. Some fear and confusion she'd expected, but could _no one_ act with some semblance of rationality?

At least they didn't throw anything at her, this time.

To think she'd been almost excited for this, a stint as a Muggle Liaison, welcoming new witches and wizards into the world of magic. Phah.

She should have known when the Head of her department was so gleeful to find she'd gotten an O on the Muggle Studies O.W.L., when she'd been told that, as new blood with the right qualifications, she'd have to do her time in the Muggle Liaison Office.

She should have known when her "training" consisted of how to subtly charm Muggles to be calm and compliant.

Totally barbaric, of course. Hermione would never manipulate defenseless Muggles with magic just so she'd have an easier time of it.

No, she is convinced to do it the right way.

...She just hadn't figured it would be so bloody hard.

* * *

The next morning Hermione goes to a Muggle library and borrows some books on persuasion and psychology—wizards don't seem to give the subject much thought, apparently.

She's decided she'll just give them all a few days to cool off, let things sink in. They're bound to be more calm after a little thought. It was a bit unkind to just spring it on them like that, after all. Next time she'll send advance notice. Even if they think it's a joke, at least the idea will be in their heads.

With a sigh, Hermione pushes open the door to the Leaky Cauldron on her way to lunch, her nose buried in _Influence: Science and Practice_. The door opens only partway, blocked by a human-shaped object. Said object retreats and the door opens fully.

She gasps, "Oh! I'm so sorry! I-"

Crap. Of all the wizards in all the world, she had to assault _Professor Snape_ with a door.

"I'm sorry, sir! Are you alright?"

She tries to looks concerned while at the same time not look like she's staring.

Hermione hasn't seen Snape since his trial over a year ago, and though he thankfully no longer looks near death, he still is a far cry from the Professor Snape of her memories. His hair remains cropped haphazardly just above his ears and the robes are absent. He looks a bit peaky, but six months in prison would do that to anyone, even without Dementors—or it could be from getting hit in the face with a door, come to think of it...

The glare is just as she remembers, however.

"Splendid, Miss Granger. I've never been better," he attempts to drawl through cupped hands. The effect isn't quite the same with the slight rasp left from Nagini's bite, and it seems he knows it. He scowls.

Snape prods his injured nose delicately before withdrawing his wand and wordlessly casting an _episkey_. She thinks it likely he's had quite a bit of practice with it before.

He moves to push past her without another word.

"Oh! But—sir, I really am sorry. Would you—that is, may I buy you lunch in apology?" she asks quickly.

He glares at her, and then back into the Leaky Cauldron. A number of eyes skitter away. And his Muggle clothing...

"Somewhere in Muggle London, of course," Hermione adds. He lets out a rattling sigh.

"Merlin forbid I refuse the bleeding heart of Gryffindor her chance to right a wrong," he says scathingly, "I suppose you'd follow me like a lost puppy no matter what I say. Come on, then."

He sweeps past—managing to appear dramatic even without his billowing robes—ignoring her indignation. Hermione tucks away her book before following him a few blocks to a small little cafe.

They take a seat at a table outside.

It's quite surreal, she thinks, sitting across from Professor Snape at a Muggle cafe. His is a character you wouldn't imagine outside of the potions classroom, stalking the halls of Hogwarts, or glaring down at you from the high-table. Yet here they are. And there _are_ a few things she'd been meaning to tell him...

"Sir, I really want to thank you for everything you did in the war. I didn't really get a chance before—well. And I'm sorry for the way we left you in the Shack, and that we couldn't do more to-"

"Miss Granger," he interrupts with a raised hand and a pained look, "I was under the assumption that this luncheon was in recompense for the injury you did me with that door back there. If we're going to recite all grievances and regrets of the past few years, we'll be here much longer than I have a tolerance."

"Right. Of course. Sorry." Hermione lets out a nervous laugh.

So what do you say, then, to a man who you've alternatively feared, respected, reviled, and hero-worshiped? Regarded with anger, submissive obedience, hatred, pity, and awe? And yes, just assaulted by accident? Do you talk about the weather? Politics?

Thankfully she is saved from having to decide when a waitress approaches their table to ask for their orders. It is not a long respite, however, and soon the two are left to their silence. Snape looks passively at those walking by on the pavement, squinting against the glare of the sun. Or maybe that's anger. Either seems as likely. She hates that he seems immune to the awkwardness of the situation. That she doesn't know if any remark of hers will be met with anger or amusement. She has no frame of reference.

Blast. He's just a man, Hermione! Say something!

"Have you been well, then?" she asks finally, then curses herself. How inane! Snape turns his attention to her, looking bemused.

"Oh yes... quite well. When not in Azkaban, bored out of my skull, I've had the pleasure of endlessly brewing simple potions any second year could make in the name of 'community service' and dodging past acquaintances, who all have one thing or another to say about my actions during the war. At times my throat is so sore I can hardly speak, and I'm jobless as well, since it seems there's no one in Britain willing to hire the murderer of Albus Dumbledore. Quite well, indeed."

"Oh," she says weakly, and he looks discomfited.

"My apologies, that was... uncalled for. I appreciate your concern. You're... the first, actually, to inquire." He returns to glaring at the sun.

The waitress brings their tea and food. Hermione nibbles on her sandwich and Snape sips his soup.

After a time, he apparently finds it necessary to make up for his earlier outburst. That or he has heretofore unseen reserves of polite conversation.

"And if I may ask, how are you and your two compatriots?" he grumbles toward the general direction of her right ear.

"Wonderful, actually!" Hermione says with a bright smile. "Harry's been accepted as an Auror, and is excelling in his training. He and Ginny have been making a steady go of it. Ron's helping George at the shop, and I took my N.E.W.T.s in the Spring. I've—just started at the Ministry, actually."

She deflates at that last bit, which _of course_ he decides to take an interest in. His eyes flick to hers and hold.

"Oh? And is it not living up to your... expectations?" he asks. She shrugs.

"Actually, I—don't know yet, really. I've been hired by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, but because of my Muggle Studies O.W.L. I've first been assigned to the Muggle Liaison Office. Not in the same department, but I'm told there's a need. And not as an Obliviator, thankfully, but talking to the families of Muggle-born students. At first I was looking forward to it, but... it's been much more difficult than I thought it would be."

Hermione doesn't like to admit that she's bad at something, especially not to him, but his expression doesn't seem to hold any judgment or satisfaction at her failure. She's grateful, and takes his silence as a prompt to continue, relieved to have someone to vent at. She's endured enough teasing because of her choice in career, thank you.

"Liaisons usually use magic, you see, to make the Muggles more susceptible to the message, and I think that's just terrible. But all those I've talked to—it's like—they just can't seem to accept it! They rage and deny it, throw me out. Sometimes they throw things _at_ me! They're totally irrational. I—don't understand it," she finishes with a sigh.

Snape makes a vague sound of agreement.

"Of course not. You're looking for rationality where none can possibly be found."

She glares at him heatedly.

"Muggles are _just_ as capable of rational thought as any wizard. Perhaps more so!"

He shakes his head.

"You misunderstand me. Of course Muggles can be rational, but they are only human. Rationality in anyone, wizard or Muggle, is often clouded by emotion and instinct. And a non-magical person instinctively fears magic and those that practice it, just as any animal will fear a predator. I've determined Muggles have some natural method of detecting magic, just as we do.

"The more powerful the wizard, the greater their fear. Actually cast a _spell_, and they'll feel as if you just held a knife to their throat. Instincts and feelings may be suppressed and ignored, yet they'll frequently react to that fear with anger and hostility, even without knowing its source. Present Muggles with magic, and of course they'll react based on fear. Add to that: an instilled sense of reality's boundaries, skepticism for the inexplicable, and a need to protect their offspring... and it can be... ugly.

"The best cure seems to be... ironically, more magic, to alter their instinctive response."

He takes a sip of his tea with complete nonchalance while she stares at him with puzzled frustration.

"You sound very sure of yourself about all that."

"I admit it is a... passing interest of mine," he says quietly, looking solemnly into his teacup. Likely reminiscing...

"But-I've never read-" Hermione begins and then huffs a laugh. How typical of her. Hasn't she learned by now that not everything can be found in a book? "But still. I've never heard anything of the kind! It's just... really. Muggles don't _fear_ me. Most are very polite! And what about the parents of Muggle-borns? All the wizards and witches who've married Muggles?"

She smiles because she thinks she's caught him, but he simply shrugs.

"How much they recognize and react to their natural aversion is, of course, individual to the person. But you'll never meet a Muggle who immediately _likes _you. Who will trust you without reservations or buy you a drink. They may be polite enough, but whip out your wand for more than a Confundus or Obliviate, and they'll quickly turn on you. The witch trials proved that most effectively.

"Now, the parents of Muggle-borns... Can you honestly tell me that your relationship with your parents is idyllic?"

Hermione looks away, feeling an urge to tear up. She honestly can't, and it never has been. They've never doted on her, never managed to compliment much more than her grades and discipline, never had any interest in what she did at Hogwarts. They'd always been painfully distant, even before she left for Hogwarts and left them for months at a time. It had been distressingly easy to send them to Australia during the war, and distressingly easy to leave them there at their request when she went back to retrieve them.

Snape seems to understand her upset, for he quickly changes the subject and speaks as softy as his rasping voice allows while still being heard.

"As to those witches and wizard _happily_ married to Muggles, I have only theories. Thrill-seekers? Maybe some have an impaired ability to sense magic? I admit I'm hopeful that it's possible to move past it completely or... build up a tolerance, as such. But I find happy mixed couples to be exceedingly rare.

"Squibs don't count, of course, because they _have_ magic, they just can't... access it. They have the worst of it really," he muses, "They're received by Muggles with the same fear as wizards, without the benefits of magical skill and acceptance in our society."

It's disturbing that everything he's saying makes a scary amount of sense. Her parents, the way she's so rarely greeted with a smile among Muggles. The very insular nature of their community. By God, the way Harry was treated by his relatives! She'd always been told that Muggles would fear magic if they knew—hence the International Statute of Secrecy—and at some level she agreed, but she'd never taken that fear so... literally.

It seems ridiculous; some sort of sixth sense and fear response in Muggles. But... how often in her life has she found that the seemingly impossible to be suddenly very real?

She's never felt so distanced from her family and upbringing, from the world around her. Muggles don't have magic, it's true, but she's always believed that to be the only barrier. To believe that so many people, simply by virtue of her magical nature, no matter how kind and welcoming she is, will immediately and instinctively _fear_ her...

"I don't want to be feared," she whispers. Snape looks at her with sympathy. Yes. He'd understand, wouldn't he? That last year as Headmaster must have been terrible for him. And it probably hasn't gotten much better, since. At least she has the magical community to find solace in.

Hermione clears her throat and rapidly blinks her watery eyes.

"So you—discovered this? I don't get the impression that it's common knowledge."

"No, I don't believe it is. In my youth I conducted a few... tests that confirmed Muggles' ability to detect magic, and their response. I believe it to be one of those things that's discovered and rediscovered, then buried again and again. I think you can appreciate the fodder this would give to those already inclined to see Muggles as very separate and... inferior beings."

"Yes, I can see that," she says, looking at the table glumly. Snape scowls at random passerby.

When the waitress comes to hand them the cheques, Hermione finds herself analyzing the Muggle's attitude. Yes, what she'd previously taken as grumpiness from a long day could be dislike of them, personally. It's so difficult to be sure.

Hermione takes both cheques and places her Gringotts Card on top before giving them back to the waitress. Snape looks at it curiously but doesn't ask.

While waiting for her to return, they finish their tea.

"No matter how distressing, I'm glad you told me," Hermione says softly. "I admit it's at least somewhat liberating to know that it's isn't my fault, or theirs."

"I trust that you won't abuse the knowledge." It's a statement and not a rebuke. She nods earnestly anyway.

The waitress returns. They stand, she scribbles a tip and her signature, grabs her card and they set off. Back to the Leaky Cauldron. Through that blasted door. Eyes turn to watch them with what she's sure their owners imagine to be great subtlety.

Hermione stops by the hall that leads to the public fireplace and hesitates. Her hand twitches a bit before coming to rest on Professor Snape's arm. Although it's just Mr. Snape now, isn't it? So much has changed.

He becomes stiff and glares at her harshly, but she refuses to be cowed.

"Thank you, sir."

"Miss Granger, it's been... tolerable" he acknowledges with a nod, and then quickly flees through the back door. To the Apparition point in the courtyard, she assumes, although he could just as easily have some business in Diagon Alley.

She looks after him, feeling bemused. Such an odd man, truly.

With an inward shrug, she gives Tom a knut for some Floo Powder and makes her way to the fireplace. Tosses it in.

"Ministry of Magic," she says clearly, and then disappears in a flash of green.

* * *

That afternoon Hermione is determined to right what she'd done wrong with at least one of those families. It's lucky that she doesn't have to report to her boss until all the parents of the Muggle-borns she's been assigned have been "informed," because that gives her time to sort it all out herself. No one but Snape needs know of her earlier incompetence.

She decides to visit the first family she talked to several days ago, and—feeling extremely conscientious now of what magic she performs near muggles—takes a cab to get there. It gives her plenty of time to think about how she'll fix things.

But really, she still has no idea. Even if she finds that they haven't become any more reasonable after a few day's thought, that no plea will move them (and she does carry some hope), does that really give her the right to cast a spell that alters their feelings and reactions? It comes too close to the Imperius curse, in her mind.

And yet it's imperative that those children are trained in magic, lest they do more than "blow up" their aunt, as Harry once did. And the Ministry requires that she obtain the Muggles' agreement—for whatever it's worth when it's taken with magic and manipulation. Not that she would advocate shipping the children of to Hogwarts without their parents' consent!

Damn it. It's all just terribly confusing and frustrating.

It seems Snape's information has changed everything, and yet nothing at the same time.

Hermione ponders that odd luncheon.

She'd been shocked at their conversation. Not only for its content, but because he'd seemed surprisingly... human; expressing emotions beyond anger, disdain, and sadistic amusement. She'd hoped, but hadn't really expected his tolerance, and even interest.

But then... how lonely it must be. Harry's taken him on as a cause, trying to get his name cleared. But all he's managed to do so far is get Snape's sentence shortened. Significant of course, but people would rather see the same hateful man they'd always known: a Death Eater, Albus Dumbledore's murderer. There are few that regard him as the hero that he is.

And how disconcerting it must be, to be removed from everything he lived for, the past twenty years. Hogwarts, his job, his role as a spy. How does one act when suddenly thrust into a changed world after several months' absence, one's relationships and place in society completely altered?

"Is this the place?" the driver asks.

Hermione startles to alertness; she hadn't realized they'd stopped.

"Yes, thank you."

As she pays him, she finds herself searching for some indication that he _fears_ her. Is his aloofness and stiff posture due to fear, or just in his character? She curses her new found paranoia.

Hermione approaches the apartment on the ground floor quickly and forces a smile. No need to exacerbate anything with a grim demeanor.

She knocks. There is a muffled yell, and soon enough the door opens a crack.

A little, blonde Muggle-born by the name of Hailey Yates peeks her head out.

"Oh, it's you," the girl says, with an impressive furrow in her brow. Her manner is a far cry from the excited awe of a few days past.

"Hello, Hailey," Hermione says gently, "I'm glad to see you again. Your mother is home, isn't she?"

"I don't think you should talk to her," Hailey says with the frankness of youth, "She's still angry from last time."

Hermione winces in remembered pain. That woman has an impressive throwing arm.

"Yes, well I'm hoping I can fix that this time," she says. "Do you think you could fetch her for me?"

But there's no need. Ms. Yates herself approaches.

"Hailey," the girl's mother scolds, "You can't just-" she stops with a gasp when she sees Hermione, who smiles nervously.

But Hermione looks into the woman's eyes and _knows_. She sees an unbridled terror, confusion, and panic the likes of which she hasn't seen since the days of Voldemort, and knows suddenly that there will be no reasoning with Ms. Yates. This woman would do everything in her power to keep Hermione from Hailey, no matter how conflicted her feelings might be for her daughter.

Hermione doesn't know if this outcome could have been prevented, but it's clear there's only one way things can move forward.

As she carefully touches the wand in her sleeve and silently casts the spell, Hermione knows this is a pivotal moment in her life. As important as when _she_ was eleven, and some Ministry Liaison came to speak—and likely charm—her parents. As important as when she realized that not everyone would like her just because they, too, had magic; as when she realized that trust can be misplaced, that not everything can be found in books, that adults are just as flawed as the children.

The war was terrible, but Hermione never had to compromise her own moral standards. She could take pride in having never been the first to strike, in having only injured in self-defense, in having only harmed those that deserved it.

But no one deserves having their mind manipulated, their decisions forced, their _child_ practically stolen from them for most of the remainder of their formative years.

It's one silent incantation, and just like that—all the tension and panic leaves Ms. Yates. She smiles warmly (if fuzzily) at her guest, not understanding at all why she was so afraid only moments ago.

"Ms. Yates," Hermione says with a brittle smile, "I think we got off on the wrong foot..."

This is the moment when Hermione realizes that there isn't always a clear answer, a "best" or "right" way to deal with people or situations. She just has to try _her _best and hope to hell that it all works out in the end...

* * *

The End.

* * *

**A/N:** Feedback would be very much appreciated, of course. I didn't have anyone to bounce ideas off of or whatever, so I have no idea how ridiculous the whole concept of this story may seem. :)

**Note:** The first chapter of a sequel, _Symbiosis_, is now up, if you'd care to read.


End file.
